


The Age of Uncertainty (And Other Books You’ll Never Read)

by Nevermakemeblue



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drag Queens, M/M, Original Character(s), bad irene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:43:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermakemeblue/pseuds/Nevermakemeblue
Summary: Five years ago, Kyle swore he never wanted to see Eric Cartman again. He should have known that alone was pushing it. Then again he never really did have the guidelines for these kinds of things... or what to do when you accidentally become your drag queen ex-boyfriend's new next-door neighbour.





	The Age of Uncertainty (And Other Books You’ll Never Read)

His new apartment was a small one-bedroom off the edge of the college district. A transition neighbourhood for those who were finally making money but, let’s face it, still spent most of their days completely flat-broke. The buildings were nicer. The streets were cleaner. Every week there was a new pop-up shop each a glimpse of artisanal jewellery or Scandinavian furniture with the inevitable life of a mayfly. Kyle past them in the morning on the way to work and would think about having a look around. He never did.

His place was one leg of an L-shaped building. It was old and small, but the bones were strong, the rent was low, and on a graduate salary that was really all he could ask for. After all, he didn’t need the space. Kyle didn’t really come with stuff. Four years of college left him with little more than a suitcase. Now, two months into his job as a paralegal at Blunt & Whittaker, he was still getting used to being allowed to own things again. So, he filled his flat with books, consoles, and the mixer Andrew bought him as a moving present. It was, to this day, the most expensive thing he owned, but it slipped into the empty gaps of the flat easily, and soon enough, so did Kyle. “Cosy” the estate agent had called it, and in many ways it was. Kyle got used to the creaks and clangs of hot water in the pipes. He stopped stubbing his toe on the bathroom threshold every morning. He started recognising neighbours and building routines.

He got a balcony! A small one for air-drying laundry and inevitably murdering plants, it overlooked next-door’s apartment and a flurry of amber oak trees lining the street below. Kyle would drink his coffee there in the morning. As the news buzzed in the background, he would stare blankly at the balcony across from him, counting the leaves built-up from the night before.

Kyle liked to stay occupied. There were not many moments of quiet in his life. But those mornings, and rare Sunday afternoons were different. With just himself and a few hours before the week began anew, Kyle got to savour a brief moment where, for once, there was nothing to do. He took to lounging in the living room, reading crime novels until he dozed off warm and comfortable under the glass warm sun and the balcony breeze. It usually took him while to form a habit, but this came fast and smooth.

So, it will come as no surprise, that it all began on a Sunday afternoon.

. 

 

It was the smell that woke him, or perhaps it was just time, but Kyle’s eyes fluttered open to the warm press of the afternoon sun and the prying smell of smoke from the balcony. Clearing his throat and the sleep from his limbs, he sat up and let his head tilt towards the door. His neck ached from office hours and computer screens and two hours of overstretched sleep, but his shirts were fluttering in the breeze, breathing in the smell of next door’s narcotics.

With a groan, he got to his feet and staggered to the balcony. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he began to collect the shirts. Tugging at the edges, the linen fluttered and fell into his arms like veils. Kyle absorbed the breeze and the sun and the smoke. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and that’s when he saw his neighbour.

His neighbour saw him too.

“Kyle?”

One small, astounded word, and his panic kicked off. Kyle was fully awake and alarmed in an instant.

“Oh no. No no no.”

“What the eff man??”

“You aren’t here.” His voice buzzed like livewire. “Or you’re robbing that place because you are not living here. No fucking way.”

Eric Cartman scoffed.

“It’s nice to see you too douchebag.”

Kyle couldn’t say the same. It had been nearly five years, and Cartman looked, _well different_.

Obviously not completely different, that stupid offended pout was the same, and he still sparked a visceral outrage in Kyle when he saw him, but everything else about him was... Even in his jeans and sweatshirt, his hair pulled back in a clip, Cartman looked ~~nice~~ different.

Kyle chose not to focus on that.

“I can’t believe this. Did you follow me here or something???”

Across the ledge, Cartman rolled his eyes. The shock had lasted all of two seconds before he was sliding back into business as usual.

“Follow you? Kyle I’ve been living here for months. Get over yourself.”

Kyle returned the eye roll in kind.

“Sure, because coincidences like this just happen.”

“Ay! How do I know you’re not the creep _huh_?”

“Oh please. How’s about twenty years of anecdotal proof?”

“Dude, you don’t want to go there. I’ve got a couple of those too.”

Kyle bit his lip to stop from replying. Cartman had always been fast to adapt. He’d always been quicker to swallow Kyle too. Less than a glimpse of conversation, and they were already back to high school and Kyle giving Cartman shit for burping into his lunch again. It should have been weird. The last time they had seen each other, Kyle had been nursing a bruised fist, and Cartman a swollen eye. The rest of them was black and blue. In the fall out of a disastrous 4th of July cook-out, they had tried to kill each other, and Kyle had sworn he never wanted to see him again.

He had meant it.

They had even made it five years. He should have known that alone was pushing it. Unable to decide where to look, Kyle tried to pin down what he was feeling. It definitely should have been weird. Then again, even if there was a protocol for something like this, he and Cartman had never been good at guidelines anyway. So Kyle did what he always did: he went with his gut and threatened him.

“I swear Cartman. If you’re here to fuck with me…”

“Kyle…Kyle, look at me dude.” He did. He was in now. Catching his eye, Cartman held it steady. Hand over his heart as if that had ever meant anything to him, he said, “I swear I didn’t psycho-stalk you, and move into an apartment next door to you just to fuck with you.” Cocking his head, his hand went from chest to chin as if deeply in thought when he said, “even if that does sound scarily like something I would do.”

“ _Cartman_.”

“Relax man. Fucking with you,” he cackled, flicking the stub over the ledge. Kyle watched it fly, cursing it and the stupid painted nails it flew from. Cartman wasn’t finished. “Nice to meet you neighbour.”

Kyle had forgotten he was holding his shirts, but in that moment, he clenched so hard they crumpled like paper in his hands. Cartman looked smug and infuriating, but also somehow genuinely happy to see him. It probed at him in a way Kyle was not willing to admit. Straightening his back, he stepped back towards his door.

“Stay away from me” he snarled, wrenching it open, “and buy a fucking ashtray!”

With that said, he slammed the door behind him.

 

.

 

The apartment across the hall came alive after that. Following that afternoon, Cartman was suddenly everywhere; in the elevator, the foyer, the balcony. Kyle would hear him at times, yelling at his game set, and would wonder how he had ever managed to miss him for so long. Cartman didn’t smoke often, but he would find excuses to dick around outside whenever Kyle was home, tossing notes in through Kyle’s open door. It could be anything from a doodle to an insult, all that mattered was that it got him out of his flat to yell at him. With that, Kyle’s evenings quickly flew out the window, along with his mornings, weekends, temper and overall peace of mind.

It was only a matter of time before he had to tell his boyfriend.

“Your ex is living next door.” Andrew worded it like he did all his questions, not like a question at all.

Kyle nodded as he sat down. Monday lunch and the food court clattered and bustled around them. Andrew had come down to meet him, in his suit and his smile that told Kyle he hadn’t quite switched off from work yet.

Kyle bit into his sandwich irritably, trying to bite through the persistent pulse of tension in his jaw. It tasted like mulch and not much else.

“Well... he’s not exactly an ex… just a…kinda...” He took another bite. Soggy mozzarella was much easier than trying to figure out where the hell he was going with that sentence. Andrew had his own idea. Watching Kyle grumble, he tried to contain the chuckle, but it leaked out in the curve of his lips when he spoke.

“Sure. I’ve had my own ‘kindas’ before Kyle; my personal tutor, my vice-captain,” he said with a pointed wink and a wiggle of his brow. “I guess I like a man underneath me.”

Kyle snorted.

“Calm down, Bill. It was college basketball, not the White House.” He grinned at him, “I thought we passed ‘kinda’ about two years back.”

Andrew pulled a face at him, but under the table, his leg pressed Kyle’s comfortingly. Kind but subtle. Kyle softened at the touch.

“So how big of a ‘kinda’ is this neighbour of yours?”

He was starting to hate that word. Tracing the edge of the tray, Kyle rolled through thousands of potential answers to that question and settled on none of them.

“Cartman and I have known each other for a long time…He’s just an old friend.”

“And the kickstart of your sexual awakening. I heard you.” Andrew grinned. He didn’t seem worried.

“Ok, that’s giving him way too much credit.” 

“So, you aren’t going to run away with him?” Andrew asked between his own bites of salad.

“Hell no. I’d hate to give your mom the satisfaction,” Kyle snorted, earning him the lukewarm disapproval he’d expected. Still he didn’t let the question linger. “Drew, Cartman and I slept together once more than five years ago. It’s really nothing serious. I’m going to stay away from him.”

His words were met with a shrug. Waving his fork around, Andrew really didn’t seem concerned at all.

“It’s ok if you don’t. I like to think we’re mature enough to be friends with our exes. Look at me and Michael”

Andrew and Michael’s relationship had had all the heat and ardour of a Ritz cracker. 

“Yeah that’s not going to happen here. Cartman’s not that kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy is he?”

“I don’t even know where to start with that. You know I swear he sets an alarm just so he can whine at me every morning. I haven’t heard the news in weeks.”

“Come on. You don’t know that. He might just be enjoying his balcony too. He’s probably got to get to work too. What does he do?”

Kyle stopped for a second. Frowning at the label on his drink, he wracked his brain for anything at all.

“You know what? I have no idea.”

 

.

 

Four weeks gave away nothing of what Cartman did for a living. Kyle knew he kept an erratic schedule; gone at nights, how often varied week to week. He would see the lights turn off at times that Kyle had just turned in for the evening. Every now and then, he would see him stumble through the door with a duffle bag weighing his shoulders down. He knew nothing more and asking felt too much like admitting an interest. So, he stayed quiet and it remained a mystery until one October night when Kyle stumbled drunk into the elevator.

The person was a man. Had to be.

Because Kyle Broflovski was not short (he wanted that noted) but this woman in her six-inch heels was almost a head taller. In his co-worker induced drunken state, Kyle looked her over from head to toe, from thigh-high hooker boots to enormous platinum blonde wig. He should have known then, but he didn’t.

“What floor?”

‘ _Eccentric’_ , he thought to himself. He could hear his boyfriend’s words in his head too. _‘One of those gays’._

She looked over at him. Kyle knew it was because he spoke to her, but for a split second it was as if she could read his mind.

“Fifth floor, Sugar.”

The voice was neither deep nor light, but a strange timber in between. Not right, but oddly perfect. Oddly familiar too. Kyle had pressed the button and the doors had closed, before his groggy mind finally connected the dots. He turned back to his companion with a horrendous realisation.

“ _Cartman_?”

And that bastard had the nerve to laugh. Goddammit, he hated him.

It rained glitter and petals in the elevator as Cartman flicked his curls, and Kyle tried to reconcile with the fact that _Cartman_ had _roses_ in his hair.

In his _wig_. Cartman in a wig.. and a dress.. and heels.. and about sixteen layers of cosmetics.

His thoughts came in Morse code stutters. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or life or life _with Cartman,_ but rubbing a hand tiredly over his face, Kyle couldn’t help but feel that this was about right. Of course, Cartman was in full drag in his elevator.

“So...” he began, “this is what you do.”

Cartman shrugged cheekily. A _‘you got me’_. He jingled when he moved, the sound of a thousand beads and tassels clattering together like river pebbles.

“I told you man there’s money in tight skirts and vajayjays.”

Oh man.

“You’re a drag queen?”

“I’m a _great_ drag queen Kyle. Don’t be jelly.” 

“I’m not jel…oh whatever.” Kyle smiled despite himself. The longer he looked the more it made sense. His friend always had loved this shit. Besides, bright lights and playing a character, that was an Eric Cartman classic. Leaning against the wall, Kyle felt the elevator move around them.

“What’s your name?”

Cartman leaned on the other wall, mirroring Kyle’s pose with a grin.

“Bad Irene, baby.”

“Irene?” Kyle echoed incredulously. It took him a moment to place the name. “Like Bad Irene from that time we played wrestling?”

“The one and only.”

Now Kyle really was laughing.

“No, you’re not.”

“You can bet your skinny ass I am Kyley-B.”

The name cut like wire. Groaning, Kyle ran a hand over his face again. Cartman only seemed to love it more.

“Jesus Christ don’t call me that.”

“But we have such fond memories together Kyley” Cartman smirked, tapping his nails along the handlebar. “Remember that time we conquered New York together?”

“I remember nearly crashing the stock market harder than ‘29 and ‘08 combined.”

“Yeah, we drank a _lot._ ”

“Drank? You’re gonna blame a narrowly avoided international crisis on a gin and tonic too many?”

“What other excuse you got? I mean, look at you. You’re wasted right now. So, I’m guessing you had what? Four drinks?” Fake eyelashes fluttered as Cartman took him in from head to toe, and Kyle burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

Cartman still forgot himself when he made Kyle laugh. It was the only time he smiled so barely and sweetly. At sixteen, that smile had been Kyle’s private treasure. To his surprise, it still was now. Tapping a finger to his lips, Kyle grinned devilishly at him and that smile only broadened.

“Four drinks exactly.”

Cartman could barely contain himself.

“We gotta talk about your drinking Kyle. It’s getting out of hand.”

“Ha. Ha. Was that weed I could smell from your place earlier or did you just stuff Towlie in the oven and call it a day?”

Cartman’s smile only grew, lighting something more in his eyes. Kyle felt an old and familiar twinge of excitement at the tension. There was something so thrilling about toeing the line between mischief and too much with this man.

“It’s a scented candle. I’m a fag after all.”

“You better watch out for the hippies.”

“We’re well past that. I already have one next door,” Cartman said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Plus, Stan gives me a family discount.”

Maybe his defences were down, but it started with a smile, then a snort, and before Kyle knew it, they were laughing. Suddenly, all the words he’d said to Andrew seemed empty. There was no leaving Cartman in the past. Not when the feeling was the same, when just thirty seconds of normal conversation could make Kyle like this.

(There was no leaving this part of himself in the past either)

Heaving a sigh, he looked at his friend wistfully.

_Five years._

The elevator stopped.

“Seriously Cartman, what are you doing? Why are you here?”

Cartman looked back, receptive to a fault.

“I told you dude,” he said. “I just live here.”

The doors opened with a ding. Cartman stepped out with a clack of his heels. For a moment, Kyle watched him move, retrieving a pair of keys from a slit in his skirt. Just as the doors began to shut again, Kyle caught them and slipped out after him.

They didn’t say goodnight, but both of them turned at the click of the locks in the door. Catching his eye, Kyle allowed himself a smile at Cartman that he carried into the apartment with him. 

 

.

 

Kyle was on the balcony again. Inside, the chatter had died down as Andrew closed the door on the last of their guests. Kyle had been sure to see them off, but all those bodies in his apartment had made for a stuffy heat that he needed away from for a while. Breathing deeply, he felt the night chill as he began counting down from ten. Two minutes then he would clean up.

Cheeks flushed in the cold, he stared at the sky, curious to see when the silence would break.

“Do you need a minute?” Kyle didn’t move. He’d noticed Cartman right away, but maybe he’d wanted to prolong the peace before the fighting began. Steeling himself, he looked down.

“Hey neighbour.”

Cartman nodded coolly. The apartment behind him was dark. The only light was filtering from the bathroom, where Kyle could see a brilliant, yellow gown, hanging from the door. Cartman, had his hair pushed back and a navy shawl around his shoulders. Leaning against the banister, he was watching Kyle with unaltered curiosity that Kyle soon found himself mirroring. He pushed closer to Cartman, so he wouldn’t have to shout over the space between them.

“Big night?”

“Gig later at the Stone Roses. You in?”

“I’ll pass.” Cartman shrugged. He wasn’t smoking this time.

Kyle didn’t know what he was doing.

Flicking fallen leaves to the ground, the man leaned against the balustrade, throwing a cursory glance over Kyle’s shoulder.

“Dinner party?”

“Yeah.”

“How mature of you.”

“Drew got promoted.”

Cartman snorted and in the cold air, it blew from him like a dragon.

“Drew, smart. Way less douchey than Sterling Andrew Christopher Harrington III.”

“How the hell do you know his name?”

“Mom told me about him when you brought him home for Thanksgiving last year. Seriously Kyle? A third? Where do you find these assholes?”

“College. You better shut your mouth and stay the fuck away from him,” he snapped, but Cartman was having a conversation of his own that had very little to do with Kyle. Ruffling his own hair out of his face, Cartman threw him a cheeky grin that set alarm bells off in Kyle’s head.

“She also said you could tell he was a boring fuck just by looking at him.”

Kyle bulldozed through the feeling until there was nothing left. He spoke flatly.

“You and Lianne need to set some boundaries.”

“We have boundaries. We’re just not prudes like you and Sheila.” Stretching, Cartman nodded his head to the room beyond. “Speaking of, I guess you save all your kinky dom shit for out-of-town hook-ups. There’s no way Miss Missionary in there gets in full drag and lets you choke him out with a feather boa.”

Kyle flushed at the memory. Of course, Cartman would throw that in his face. In that moment, he thought of all the information this guy had hanging over Kyle’s head like the blade of a guillotine. There was no way in hell his boyfriend and Cartman could _ever_ meet. Kyle would sooner swallow farts, eat bananas and walk backwards into hell wrestling ManBearPig as he went.

Cartman only smiled.

“You should come tonight dude. It’ll be good for you.”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Kyle said tartly. “In fact, I’m not doing this at all. I’m out.”

 “Does he cry after sex? You can tell me.”

“ _Goodbye_ Cartman.”

He slid the door shut with a loud thud, shutting off the cackle of Cartman beyond, and things were normal again. Eyes fixed to the floor, he walked stubbornly back over to where his boyfriend was popping open a bottle of champagne.

Glancing his way as he poured the glass, he grinned and nudged him amicably.

“What’s got you smiling?”

“Oh Nothing.” Kyle replied, but when he breathed it was different. In his chest, tension was buzzing like static on a radio. It spiked with the slam of another balcony door on the other side of the building. He purposefully redirected the conversation. “So how did I do?”

Andrew grinned. Pressing a quick kiss to Kyle’s temple, he handed him a glass.

“You were phenomenal,” he said with a tap of his glass to Kyle’s. “Cheers to you.”

Kyle smiled back. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a sip that turned into a gulp then before soon the drink was gone. Grabbing the bottle from his slightly stunned boyfriend, Kyle refilled his glass and knocked it back again twice as fast.

He didn’t know what possessed him. Two drinks were already a lot for him. He could already see Andrew getting ready to tell him, but he stopped him with arms around his neck and a kiss to his lips. Pulling his boyfriend close, Kyle pressed lips to his ears and tried to ignore the draught from the balcony.

“Let’s go somewhere to celebrate.”

His boyfriend nodded, dumb-founded still. Without changing nor thinking twice about it, they were out the door, leaving the dishes unwashed on the table.

 

.

 

The Stone Roses was more colour off the bat. Kyle was used to sleeker; Minimalist bars of black, white and grey. This place, it took the flag and made it her whole identity. There was no missing the Gay with a capital G. It was in the glitter in the air, hurtling down like leaves in autumn. And if the place was screaming it, the people were doused and self-immolated in it.

Oh man, Andrew was going to hate this.

Glancing over his shoulder, Kyle watched a man in a thong and fairy wings put a halo on Andrew’s head and press a kiss to his cheek. He also saw the exact moment the surprise slid into poorly masked resentment. His boyfriend didn’t do Pride or rainbows or Gay with a capital G or otherwise. He routinely referred to himself as ‘not that kind of gay’. It definitely rubbed some people the wrong way at times, but Kyle had never felt either way about it because in all honesty, it wasn’t his scene either. He felt shell shocked. Overwhelmed. What the hell had he been thinking?

“Oh man I’m regretting this already,” he whispered wryly in his boyfriend’s ear. Andrew to his credit was a good sport. Sliding a hand down his back, he gave Kyle a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s get you a drink and see how we feel,” he said, ushering Kyle over to the bar. “If you still hate it, I can fake a stroke or something.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Kyle murmured, pressing into the hand on him with a smile. Andrew bloomed with pleasure at his words, revelling in the perceived horror they both felt at the place. Kyle could see the in-joke forming behind his eyes, a story to tell at future dinner parties. _You should have seen those depraved homosexuals. Luckily, Kyle and I stay away from those things. Luckily, we have no need to be a stereotype._

It went on and on in his head. Kyle sipped his drink as he watched two guys in full rainbow body paint make-out in the corner. This was Pride at its fullest. Andrew always had described ‘those kinds of gays’ as if they were exotic animals. It was with an echo of that sentiment that Kyle watched them now. It was bizarre and wild and trilled in his body like the clattering of wind chimes. Kyle wasn’t like Andrew at all. He was excited.

So, these were Cartman’s people.

Someone broke away from the crowd before them, throwing himself excitedly into Kyle’s path.

“I know you!”

Blindsided, all Kyle could do was stumble back, as his vision was suddenly full of white teeth and rosy cheeks.

“You do?”

The boy before him was petit and blonde in his skinny jeans and top. You could read sweetness in his face and mischief in his eye. For Kyle, it was like stepping into a parallel dimension where Butters had run off to the city to become a Go-Go boy.

“Sure, I do. You’re the neighbour, right? I’m Jay, Irene’s friend.”

All at once it came back to him. Kyle had seen him before. Every now and then in the entrance hall, and that one time he’d bumped into Cartman at the grocery store. He’d had the same thoughts about Jay then. It seemed that for Cartman, old habits were hard to break.

_Like you’re one to talk._

Remembering himself, he took the offered hand.

“Kyle.” After a pause. “This is Andrew.”

Jay repeated his name a couple times. He spoke a mile a minute, flitting through stories like dating profiles. Dragging them to the stage, he chattered about everything from Monday mornings to Saturday Nights. Kyle and Andrew were helpless to resist. Trailing the boy, they stole a bemused glance and let Jay fill the gaps.

“Is this your first time seeing Irene? Golly, she’s really something. You’ll love her.”

Andrew took the lead, picking up the thread of conversation so Kyle could stare blankly at the people around them.

“It’s actually our first drag show. We’re kind of home-bodies.”

Jay was delighted. Clasping his hands together, he showered flurries of praise upon Irene so strong it brought Kyle back round to the conversation. Cartman’s friend was flushed with pride and adoration impossible to reconcile with the person he knew. It wasn’t just him however, Kyle had caught pockets of conversation throughout the night. People really loved Bad Irene. The hum of excitement that he’d thought was native to the club, all of it was for her. All Kyle could think of was the snide, ~~beautiful~~ boy flicking gold leaves from a balcony.

“Hey Kyle, can I ask you something.”

“Sure whatever.”

Jay sidled up to him to slip under the bass line. Speaking lowly, he leaned into Kyle’s side.

“Who’s Butters?”

“Huh?”

“Butters. Irene talks about him sometimes. Says I’m just like him. I thought maybe he was an ex or something and I’d have a shot.”

Oh boy.

“Don’t worry dude. It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh ok.” Jay stopped for a moment, sipping at his drink pensively. Kyle thought about making his excuse, but just as he was forming the thought, Jay gulped and started again. “It’s just… you know Irene never really dates anyone here and what with her show… you know…I guess there must be a pretty devastating ex out there.”

His stomach flipped. Forgetting everything about excuses, Kyle stared at the boy in front of him.

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, just the clips she uses in the show. It’s gotta be somebody special.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Was Cartman playing video clips of them? Fuck, had Kyle let himself be caught on camera? In an instant, none of what Jay said mattered. Kyle was looking at Andrew. All he could focus on was what Cartman could possibly use to get back at him. Because that had to be what it was. Eric Cartman didn’t do fast and messy anymore. He did slow and methodical and blew up your life half a decade later in a gay club.

It was his final thought before the lights cut out. Across the room the lights came on, the hype man boomed, and the screaming began. Irene was headlining and Kyle had been friends with Cartman long enough to recognise a Lady Gaga medley when he heard one. Smoke screens, white lights and ‘Poker Face’ and there she was: Bad Irene.

Kyle hardly recognised her. All at once, the full force of Bad Irene slammed him with the force of an eighteen-wheeler. Irene stood like an icon above the screaming crowd. The dress that had seemed so mediocre hanging from a bathroom doorway burst on the stage like the sun, reflecting with every turn of the spotlight. Kyle could only stare. The only still point in the crowd, Cartman found him immediately. Among all the lights and the noise, their gazes met and his eyes, black with make-up swallowed Kyle whole.

Then the song cut to the chorus. The show really began, and Kyle didn’t breathe right until it came to an end.   

A telephone rang.

At first he thought it was someone in the crowd, until Irene strode across the stage to a prop phone on the wall. She answered to the crackle and crunch of a broken line.

“Hello?” Irene said. On the other side, the recording replied.

_“You know I can’t fucking believe you sometimes. How could you just leave him there?? I really can’t trust you with shit can I?”_

It was like being knifed in the back. Kyle’s temperature dropped in a matter of seconds. His blood ran cold as ice.

“Fuck.”

It was him. His voice was on the other line. It was cracked and retouched and mid-pubescent, but he remembered the script like he’d reviewed it yesterday. On stage, Bad Irene was stood hip-cocked and eye-rolling as everyone in the venue watched her be verbally eviscerated by the ghost of Kyle Broflovski.

_“It’s like I ask you to be a god-damn normal human being for once in your pathetic piece-of-shit life and you can’t even do that.”_

Ten years ago.

_‘What the fuck is wrong with you?”_

They were fifteen. Kyle had once again put his trust in Cartman who once again had left him down. He didn’t remember the details. The why and what of it didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t why Kyle so instantly recognised the voice message. It was because of what came next. Because he still remembered the feeling when two weeks before Cartman had told him he loved him. Kyle knew the next line as well as he knew any of Cartman’s pop song lyrics.

_“Weren’t you supposed to love me?”_

Irene hung up the phone. The music played.

_‘I can't believe what you said to me. Last night when we were alone. You threw your arms up_ _  
Baby you gave up_ _’_

Cartman had once said that he recorded everything Kyle said. Never in his life had he thought it might be true. No, he’d thought it was true, he just never believed it would come to bite him in the ass in such a colossal way. 

_‘Lord, show me the way to cut through all his worn-out leather I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away but baby, I just need one good one to stay’_

It was a sad song. Drag peppered with screenshots of Kyle’s bleakest moments. From middle school to college, there was Kyle cussing him out for ditching them with no more than a dollar to their name in New Orleans. There was Kyle begging him to help them take down the tenth graders. There was Kyle apologising for not believing in him then once again screaming because he had.

Then there was a special one; Recorded on a Summer night in high school, Kyle shy with an anxious smile to his voice, asking Cartman to come over. The nervous crack in his voice made Kyle’s cheeks flush when he heard it. How had Jay ever needed to ask about Cartman. It was all there. Every single episode on the Kyle and Cartman love story splattered like paint across a canvass. Kyle’s cheeks burned as the tempo picked up again.

_‘It's been a long time since I came around been a long time but I'm back in town and this time I'm not leaving without you’_

For the first time since the music began, Cartman found him again in the crowd. Over the beat of the music, his expression changed. A promise was made. As if the voice notes weren’t on the nose enough, Cartman’s message was bright as day to him: _every word is for you._

_‘There’s something about the chase…’_

As the crowd rustled around them, Cartman held his eye. The smile he gave Kyle was vicious, vindictive, victorious, everything he hadn’t allowed himself to be until now. Kyle was furious, at himself, at everyone. Of course, this was how Cartman would do this. With only his pride left, he held his ground, fixing Cartman with a glare strong enough to wither plants. In the background, his voice still played. Drunk and slurring, it was the worst of all.

_“Hi it’s me again…after three years…remember me? Of course, you don’t it’s been three years you’d have to be crazy to still be thinking about me.”_

This one was different. It was new.

_“You want to know something fun. I got a boyfriend today…I know isn’t that just the gayest shit you’ve ever heard? Me with a boyfriend and he’s sweet and sexy and so fucking smart. I am so happy…. Of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be fucking happy?”_

Kyle’s cheeks burned hot at the words he didn’t remember saying. Andrew. This had been the first night of that trip they’d taken together. They’d had sex for the first time that night. An hour later, Kyle had sat on a hotel bathroom floor and phoned his ‘kinda’.

_“I’m happy.”_

The mantra rang hollow even to his own ears. In the background the music was slowing to nothing more than a beat. The autotune in his voice was fading to nothing. As the voice on the line slowly went from robot to human, Kyle felt his heart beat double time.

_“How do you still…do this to me?....”_

Irene stood at the back. The smile and stardom had fallen from her. Just for a moment, she was Eric Cartman again. His face was stone cold.

_“Fuck...”_

The crackle dropped as Kyle Broflovski emerged, drunk and slurring and completely, undeniably him.

_“Eric, I miss you.”_

The line went dead, and the stage plunged into darkness.

All around them, the stunned crowd came to life with a deafening roar. The loudest cheers of all came from Jay, taking a moment between applause, he turned to Kyle, but his voice didn’t get through. Every sound seemed bloated and far away, striking his ears as if he was underwater.

“I told you she’s something huh?”

In the mayhem of the crowd, Kyle looked to his boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, look who decided to show up. 
> 
> This fic was a silly idea that I ended up spending way too much time on.  
> It will probably be two parts. The other is already 80% finished. 
> 
> I hope you liked it! Please let me know ^^


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